


Wound

by honeydewed



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Alfyn & Primrose, Alfyn Greengrass & Primrose Azelhart - Freeform, Alfyn/Primrose - Freeform, F/M, Primrose & Alfyn, Primrose Azelhart & Alfyn Greengrass - Freeform, Primrose/Alfyn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 20:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16047986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydewed/pseuds/honeydewed
Summary: Spoilers for Primrose's chapter 3. Alfyn heals a wound. He knows there's things he can't fix but that doesn't mean he won't try.





	Wound

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Octopath Traveler. I don't own these characters. Entire chapter 3 is spoiled you've been warned. Sort of a continuation of my other fic "Good" but it's not necessary to read that one to understand what's going on.

Cyrus is an enjoyable person to listen to. He makes for a good drinking partner and Alfyn loves people who are intelligent and wise because they remind him of Zeph and Zeph's father. Zeph especially has a knack for learning and can recite just about anything he studies and Alfyn's always floored by such an amazing ability! Curiosity fills Zeph's brain with facts. Alfyn's better when studying something up close or in practice. However, his admiration for curiosity's waning at the moment as he listens to Cyrus chat with Primrose. Professor Cyrus says whatever comes to mind if something exists for him to ponder or wish to unravel while he pinches his chin as the wheels in his head turn. "May I be so bold as to pry," he speaks at last and draws Primrose aside. Alfyn's close enough to listen to the dancer and scholar. "That man is very important to you, is he not?" Alfyn's heart squeezes at the inquiry and silently prays to every god he knows individually she'll say "no". One needs to be completely daft to not sense the chemistry between the well dressed man and the lady. Alfyn bristles waiting to hear something, anything from Primrose.

"Why do you say that?" feigning innocence Primrose shifts her weight and Alfyn hears the click and jingle of her bangles and jewels. Somehow the answer cast back in the form of an inquiry hurts even more. She doesn't deny loving him, doesn't even say it's ridiculous, or a fancy trouser bloke like that could possibly be of interest to her. He's a pretty looking guy alright, Alfyn admits to himself in a defeated way. Fair of face sharp features like a pointed nose and melancholic looking mouth, that's the sort of thing ladies swoon over. 

"'Tis a conjecture, based on how you both look at one another," Cyrus announces matter of fact as he'd been studying the two. Alfyn runs through a mental thesaurus figuring the professor must be saying: The way you two look at each other gave it away we all saw it, Prim. "Had you not chosen to live your life the way you do, I wonder if-" Alfyn's close to spinning on his heel and pushing Cyrus in the shoulder. It isn't Cyrus that's at fault, he's an observational man to his core and the blunt honesty from purely academical pursuits often amuse Alfyn. He's been on edge since they all arrived to the rich area of the Flatlands. This is Primrose's old home after all. Anyone could tell she's of noble birth and didn't belong in the shadows of the desert. Unlocking information about Primrose remains difficult. She rarely speaks of herself beyond her end goal and intends to stain her hands red like her dancer's garb. Killing isn't something a healer like himself truly understands as he's no right to judge who lives and who doesn't. Anyone in this world that can cause Primrose pain however doesn't deserve to sully the world with their existence. That well read young man that Prim's still moon eyed over, he clenches his fist, he can still make her smile, steal her breath, and make her blush. Alfyn's blood runs cold and his heart's beating fast. 

What will happen when Primrose's dark venture comes to a close? The idea of no longer aiding her or standing along side her is too painful to think about. She doesn't even need him. What does he expect her to do when she's done? She's a life here and a home. If she can lay claim to it and prove her identity she'll take on her family's responsibility won't she? He's an idiot. Alfyn can't bring her back to a plain place like Clearbrook and as what? His ears burn in a place that's either between rage and embarrassment. A broke apothecary's wife? His jaw trembles and mouth clenches shut. Primrose can do whatever she damn pleases with her life. If she wants she can still marry that pretty boy and any man that can look at her and be blind to what she's worth ought to make way for Alfyn's fist! He knows snobby types, not that many ever come to Clearbrook but he knows. The finely crafted face of the poet still lingers in his mind's eye. It's unlike him to be so hung up on appearances but the memory of the welltailored violet jacket, clean gloved hands, and hair that mimics the snowfall from the northern areas of their country pulled back in elegant braid he's exactly the sort of guy a lady can fall head over heels for. He even writes poetry, has Alfyn ever written a poem for anybody? What does a scruffy guy like him have to offer anyway?

"You can stop right there, Professor," Primrose's statement cuts like lemon in tea. "How I live my life is my affair, not yours." Pure venom drips off her words like a snake's fangs and Alfyn's sure he's become chillier from listening to the conversation between the two. 

"Y-yes quite," Cyrus stutters clearly off his game. It isn't like him to be so flustered but he's either shocked by Primrose's quiet outburst or just now realizing he's struck a nerve. His curiosity knows no bounds but Cyrus isn't a vicious or even cruel fellow, Alfyn has a feeling he didn't even realize how intrusive the inquiries were. Cyrus clears his throat and Alfyn can practically see him wringing his hands in anxiety, "I do apologize." 

Sister Ophilia moves to break up Cyrus and Primrose and speak to her. He decides he's heard enough. After hearing Tressa gush to her and chatter he's had enough eavesdropping for one day. Alfyn needs a stiff drink and to forget about the man that still retains a hold over the heart he covets the most. Jealousy's ugly and he can't bring himself to display such a grotesque emotion in the company of his friends. Therion shoots Alfyn a knowing glance and shakes his head. Alfyn hooks an arm around the thief like an old friend and announces happily, "C'mon let's hit the alehouse."

Simeon. Simeon. Simeon. What kind of pompous name is that anyway? He hates the way it sounds. Why didn't his parents name him something plain like Simon instead? Something simple? No, he had to be named Simeon. Alfyn hates the way her painted lips form his name and the longing in her voice. She practically caresses the name like it's a fond and beautiful thing. He hates the way the man with saccharine words calls her "beautiful" and calls her "my love" as if she's his. Primrose doesn't belong to anybody lest of all a fancy looking guy like him with gentle words. Alfyn hates the look on her face, how peaceful she was and how he took her arm. Her arm slid into his so naturally and he wants to forget the look on her face. Damn it, why can't he be the one to bring that peaceful expression on her face? Alfyn rubs the back of his neck pondering if he should visit a barber. Maybe if he makes enough money he can dress better or give her whatever she could ask for. 

Primrose announces to the group she'll be going to the manse, her previous home, and Alfyn's the first one to stand. After gathering supplies the party meets Revello outside the Obsidians lair. The old manor's gorgeous fine as the Ravus estate if not as lovely. Though the nest is fowl and all trace of the Azelhart's have been erased in the walls and decorum. Clipping the other wing of the crow is bloody and Primrose sinks her father's dagger into him. Revello leaves and everyone hangs back to give Primrose her space. 

Simeon emerges from the shadows and Alfyn stiffens. His fine leather boots scarcely make a sound upon the wooden floor and Primrose turns to call out his name. Something about this fated meeting feels wrong and Alfyn watches as the two seem to forget everyone else in the room. How did a guy like Simeon manage to make it so far into the lair of a notorious criminal? Alfyn doesn't see a scratch on him. Not a hair's out of place and he doesn't look like he's even broken a sweat. Alfyn fights back his jealousy to hear the man out as he closes the space between himself and Primrose. Primrose smiles as he tucks her hair back and the others all pretend not to look. Most shuffle out for Revello but Alfyn can't bring himself to move, he can't look away. Not until they look into each other's eyes and he begins to move to the door. He can't watch this. He can't look at him and her while she still so clearly has feelings for another. As he steps into the hallway he hears something he shouldn't. The glint of the dagger shines like a diamond and twists into Primrose's side. Alfyn's too stunned to register what happened. Primrose's voice cracks and Simeon reveals his true colors and wickedly crows his achievements. Alfyn rushes forward he can't chase after the man otherwise Primrose will bleed out! 

"Prim! Prim no!" he cradles her and calls out, "Everyone! Help!" He shuffles through his bag. "The crow!" The sound of footsteps fill his ears and he panics as blood red as her garb stains his hands. 

Sister Ophilia keeps vigil by her side. Praying as she administers light magic unto the young woman. Alfyn sits on the other end keeping an eye on the wound. He's dealt with stab wounds before and knows how fatal they can be. Revello and his wife bring the healers meals to eat and inquire about her condition. Alfyn fears for the worse, after a betrayal like that, he's unsure if he'd be able to live or if he'd want to. Occasionally Primrose murmurs something in her sleep and he thinks she looks like a princess in a story Nina liked to be read. Cyrus laments as he pours over books looking up how to best treat a stab wound and says he should have recognized Simeon's ill intentions sooner. Tressa took Prim's hair down on her shift and asked, "Alfyn do you think she'll wake up?" Olberic busies himself with his sword if he's not polishing it he's asking someone to fight and punches the wall saying he should have protected her. Therion shakes his head sadly saying betrayal's inevitable but it shouldn't have happened to Primrose and shuffles away off to find something he's looking for. H'annit spends her days looking for a trail or a sign of Simeon to send Linde after him. Alfyn's heart beats wildly he wonders what will happen if she doesn't wake up? Between changing out her bandages, sleeping, watching her sleep, pouring water in her lips and massaging her throat so she'd drink it, and reading up on the best way to ward off scars he concocts a special medicine. He doesn't dare leave her side but instead sends Tressa out to procure the proper herbs and used his mortar and pestle to press them together.

One night she cries out in her sleep but beyond that doesn't stir, weak from the battle and the wound he reaches out holding her hand. "C'mon Prim, you gotta pull through," he draws her hand to his scruffy face. Her hand's limp and fingers curve along the edge of his hand. He holds it in place and presses his forehead against her nails. "Please." He thinks of a night where it'd been the two of them and he held her hand until she fell asleep. He opened up his soul to her then. He talked about Zeph, he spoke fondly about Nina, he talked about the lazy river, and everything he knew about being an apothecary. Simeon said she liked stories. If he told her one perhaps she'd wake up. 

"Prim," he murmurs into her hand. She's a good lady. She doesn't deserve this. "You ever hear the story about the sleeping princess?" the candle light flickers and he opens up his eyes hoping to see hers staring back at him but they're still shut. "She was beautiful, and kind, and courageous, and well everyone loved the princess because she wasn't always sleeping," how did it go? "She's been born that way but like most good things there was someone craving her good fortune and no that's not how it goes," Alfyn's hands hang onto hers. He doesn't want to let go of them. "The princess was beautiful and kind and courageous and everyone loved her but the person to love her the most was the court's fool," he hefts out a quiet breath reminiscent of a chortle. "She had a wicked spell cast on her and well, it put her to sleep and no one could wake her up," except a kiss from a handsome prince. "The fool tried to wake her up, he told her stories, he sang her songs, and held her hand but." He closes his eyes. He's a foolish guy isn't he? "No one could rouse the princess but herself she had to wake up on her own. Please, please Prim." Please wake up.

After three days and three nights Primrose finally opens her eyes. 

The pain from her wound after moving forces a sharp cry from her and he realizes there's a weight around her hand. Alfyn springs up like a shot and releases her. "Pr-" he can't say her name. "You're," he beams relief lifts the burdens from his shoulders. "You're awake, you gave us a scare," he wipes the sleep from his eyes and nods at her, "You gave us all a fright. How ya doin'?" He should know better than to ask her that but he wants to make sure she's alright before he fetches Revello. 

"Fine," is all that she says and he offers her a pained smile. Anybody that says they're "fine" is usually anything but. "Alright well, I...I'll get Master Forsythe for you." He stands up and excuses himself. 

After that Alfyn makes himself scarce. Primrose is already up and moving again before the morning's over ready to continue on her journey after the final crow. Everyone's solemn at the turn of events and keep to each other and give Primrose some space. Alfyn however can't stay away. If he stayed with her then maybe she wouldn't have been stabbed in the first place. As they begin to leave Noblecourt Alfyn finds his voice.

"Hey," his voice cracks like he's a young boy again. "Primrose." With the speed of a sundial's shadow passing through the day she turns to him. Dark eyes heavy with pain and he wants to rush up to her caress her face and tell her he's sorry. Tell her that if she wants to rest she can certainly do so and he'll finish off the brutes on her behalf. He's no knight fighting for a lady fair but he'd go to the far reaches of Hell and back on her behalf. To Hell with her revenge he wants to wipe the floor with that fiend Simeon because he's hurt the person he cares for the most. Alfyn can't justify killing people outside self defense and he's never hated anybody before as he hates the playwright. He's never wanted to wring anyone's neck or find a plant to poison, sting, and torture the person ingesting it but he's overcome with the wish to make him suffer. "This is for you," he opens up the top of his satchel. Despite his earlier ministrations and looking after her he's still worried. Stab wounds can be difficult to fix and although the bleeding's stopped he doesn't want her to overexert herself. Alfyn approaches with caution like a doe facing down a hunter as he produces a jar full of pale green salve. 

Recognition takes the cloudiness away from her sad looking face. Taking the bottle she examines it and finally understands what he's given to her, "...Medicine?" Primrose's words are slow and careful. 

"It'll fix you fast," Alfyn promises. Proud of his work he continues, "If it starts to hurt again." It shouldn't but a patient with a broken spirit takes longer to heal than a patient that's actively trying to get better. 

Primrose stares at the glass and a glassiness clings to her eyes."Thank you..." she says finally and bows her head. Dark hair tumbles forward with the movement and she clings to the medicine. 

"Listen..." he's never been good at sounding authoritative. In fact sounding like a doctor is something out of his grasp which is why he's an apothecary. "I want you to take care of yourself, okay?" Alfyn wants to see her thrive in this world and see her be hale and hearty not only in body but in spirit and mind. His salves and medicinal herbs can only go so far but he can't mend a broken heart, he can't do anything of true use for her. He wishes he could do something, anything that could give her comfort. He wishes he can be of use to her. "I'm askin' as your apothecary..." Primrose closes her eyes as she holds the jar between her delicate hands. "And," when she looks at him he feels his throat constrict. "Friend." He can be that at the very least. He can be her friend. 

Primrose keeps silent and he knows he wants to be more but admitting to such a thing now, he'd have to be a total idiot to say more. He wants to tell her that he wants her to survive and live because she's someone dear. He wants to tell her that she's precious and beloved. He wants to tell her that he adores her and that she's become so special to him. He wants to do everything he can to help her even though he's certain she can walk this path without him but to take him with her for luck, for comfort, for whatever she needs. Primrose stays quiet for so long he starts to feel foolish and is about to excuse himself to grab a quick drink from the alehouse and bury whatever it is he's feeling right now. 

"Thank you," she says at last and the space is closed between them. Tucking the medicine away she reaches out her smooth hand clasps his. "Alfyn..." There are still good men in this world, Primrose decides. She knows that there are many reasons to rid the world of the Crows and continue on her impure push in the world. She needs to slice Simeon's neck open and disband the operation he set into place. She'll do everything within her power to make this world a better place although it's been cruel to her. Primrose squeezes his hand and moves to rejoin the group but Alfyn holds fast to her hand. 

"We're all here for you, Prim," he can feel his hand trembling. He's here for her. Whatever path she takes, wherever she goes so long as she'll have him he'll follow. "You'll let me change that bandage later, won't you? And don't push yourself too hard otherwise it will open and I ah well I don't mind patchin' it up but I'd rather not." He can manage flesh wounds. He doesn't know if he can heal anything else but he'll do his best. 

"I'll do my best," Primrose promises and the will to live intermingles with the wish for vengeance and to give him peace of mind. Everyone truly cared about her and if she brushes that close to death again they'll all certainly fetch her. 

"I will too," Alfyn promises but Primrose isn't sure what he's promising so she puts on a brave face and lets him hold her hand as they move to their next destination. 


End file.
